


If You Won't Let Me Go

by shanology



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, In Public, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2247750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanology/pseuds/shanology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton spends a couple hours waiting for a meet in a club, and when his contact bails, decides the night might as well not be a TOTAL waste. Clint plus reader, basically straight smut in Chapter 1, but there's going to be a Chapter 2 with more Clint personality and even actual plot. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Won't Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

> There's no excuse for this one, other than I got a song stuck in my head, and all I could envision was Clint having sex on a couch with that playing in the background. So if you want the 'soundtrack' (which is where the title came from), it's Song for Holly by Esthero/Danny Saber, and you can find it here:   
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJw8xwUTqoM

Clint Barton is waiting in a darkened Berlin club for a meet that never happens. He gets the signal that it’s off, takes out his com unit, and decides to finish his whiskey before taking off.   
  
He’s been watching you dance with your roommates - other exchange students - all night. Now that he’s no longer keeping an eye out for his contact, he’s got both eyes on you and he decides maybe that’s something else he should finish before leaving.  
  
He tosses back the rest of his drink and approaches you on the dance floor. Clint has no patience for games tonight, and if that’s your thing, he wants no part of it. He’d rather go back to the safe house and jack off in the shower than spend the next hour doing the coy flirtation thing.

 

***

  
You see him approach, and he keeps his eyes dead on yours so you know he’s coming for you. Stopping in front of you, he gently grabs you by the hips. Putting his mouth close enough to you that you can hear him over the music, his lips brush your ear as he growls, “I’ve been wanting to get inside you for the last two hours. Yes or no?”  
  
He pulls back, giving you a chance to think. You’ve never met this man, and you probably won’t see him again after tonight. The way he approached you was incredibly…bold…but in this place, it’s actually kind of a surprise that he didn’t go further. The hunger in his eyes and the way his fingers are gently massaging your waist tell you that you won’t regret whatever happens. You nod, quickly before you lose your courage, and then you’re waving vaguely at your friends to let them know you’re okay before he’s pulling you off the dance floor.  
  
He leads you straight to the private VIP booth he’d been sitting in earlier. (Turns out that a good meeting place for spies also is the perfect location for a quick fuck.) He yanks the heavy velvet drapes closed behind you, and the sounds of music are muffled a bit. Then he backs you up until your knees hit the soft suede of the sofa, and you’re on your back with him on top of you before you’ve even kissed.  
  
There’s something else you’ve skipped, though, and as he settles himself between your legs - and damn he wasn’t joking about wanting this - you gasp, “What’s your…”but break off in a shiver as he licks your ear. “Clint” he murmurs, before returning his attention to your delicate earlobe. You squeak out your name, and he hmmms vaguely, as though names aren’t really going to matter here.  
  
Knowing what this man tastes like has become a _need_ , so you grab his head and pull his mouth to yours. Apparently he prefers to be in control, because he pins your wrists on either side of your head, but gives you the kiss you were after anyways. It is…shattering. Deep and intense and thorough, like he’s trying to learn every secret you’ve ever had with just his tongue alone. You moan and thrust your hips up into him, and he’s grinding right back into you.  
  
You can’t believe this is happening. You can still hear the beat of the music from the other side of the curtain, there are people dancing maybe ten feet away, and the sexiest man you’ve ever met is writhing on top of you in a way that makes it clear he plans to be writhing inside you very, very soon. You slip your hands free and wrap your arms around his ridiculously broad shoulders to ground yourself, and when you dig your nails in just a little bit, he growls and shoves his tongue a little deeper into your mouth.  
  
It had been clear from the way he approached you that patience was not something Clint had a lot of tonight. He proves that now, pulling back to kneel between your legs as he strips off the tight grey t-shirt he’s wearing. All you can think is _damn_ , because you could tell from the way that shirt fit that he was ripped, but this is something else. His smooth chest is all hard, sculpted muscle, with just the lightest dusting of dark hair leading into the waist of his jeans, and you whimper - just a little - in appreciation. He laughs, and it’s a low, rough sound that seems to surprise him as much as it does you. “Like what you see?” he asks as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. You nod shyly, wiggling to help him get the shirt out from underneath you.  
  
He grabs your shoulders gently, sliding one hand behind you to undo your bra, and then you’re both naked from the waist up. Instead of pressing down on top of you again, he lifts you - and watching those amazing muscles flex is stunning - and lays you back down so you’re on your side, pressed against the back of the couch. He lies down facing you, and when his bare skin hits your already sensitive nipples, you shiver, and he offers you a grin. “That’s better, yeah?” he whispers before returning his tongue to your mouth. This time as he kisses you, his hands are wandering, and they slip between you to cup your breasts. His fingers are rough, calloused in unexpected places, and you’re quickly rubbing against him, trying to get his fingertips right where you want them to be. He makes it clear, again, that you’re not in charge by the simple act of pulling away. The warmth of his hands disappears and his lips slip free of yours as he pulls back to look at you with his eyebrows raised.  
  
He waits to see what you’ll do. You bite your lip nervously. Do you trust this guy enough to give up every shred of control here?  
  
Can you live with yourself if you walk away from this now?  
  
The answer is obvious, so you nod and close your eyes, waiting to see what he has in store for you. He rewards your surrender by finally, finally pulling your nipples between his fingers, playing with them as his mouth returns to yours. He might be teasing you more than you want, going slower than you expected for a fuck in the VIP room, but clearly he’s going to make sure you get what you need in the end. Still, you’re nervous, and he must be able to tell because he whispers in your ear, “Just let go. I promise I’ll take care of you.”  
  
Just hearing this incredibly strong man promise to take care of you flat _does_ it for you. You moan, but try to stay still, knowing he’ll pull back again if you push him for more. Still, surely that doesn’t mean that you can’t touch _him_? You wrap your arms around him, just kneading all the muscles in his back because damn, when will you ever again touch someone built like this? And he seems to love it, rolling his shoulders into your touch. He decides he’d rather have that touch somewhere else, though, and grabs your hand to guide it between his legs.  
  
Even through his jeans, you can feel that he’s long and just thick enough and definitely interested in you. You give a couple of firm, slow strokes, and he thrusts his hips closer, pinching your nipples between his fingers. You’re not sure if he’ll let you or not, so when your hands reach for his belt, you look up to meet his eyes. Seeing the question on your face, he says, “Lemme make it easier,” and stands up to quickly drop his jeans to the floor. And then you’re getting an eyeful of everything you’d been feeling because holy shit the man was not wearing anything under those jeans, and really, he shouldn’t be allowed to wear anything at all, ever. He digs a condom out of his discarded jeans and rolls it on.  
  
You only get a moment to admire the freakin’ god standing in front of you before he’s kneeling on the couch and undoing the button on your jeans. You wriggle your hips to help him out and it seems like just an instant before he’s pressed against you again, but this time you’re both completely naked, and ohgod. Just. FUCK. The man is head-to-toe muscle with some interestingly sexy scars and just the right amount of hair in all the right places and now that hard dick is pressed up against your belly and for a minute you literally can’t breathe. You don’t realize that you’ve stopped until Clint touches your cheek, a look of concern on his face. “You okay? If you don’t want this, we can still stop. Anytime.”

  
You shake your head no, vehemently, and it seems to startle your system back into functioning again. “ _No_. I want this. Just maybe a little _too_ much and I was just… overwhelmed there for a minute.”  
  
He smiles, and it’s softer and less wicked than his previous grins. “That is definitely something I can work with.” He kisses you again, but it’s gentler this time, more lips and less tongue, and even though you both finally have all your clothes off, it feels like you just started over.  
  
The Clint lying with you now is somehow a gentler Clint…less urgent, more playful than he had been before. It’s as though he’s just realized how… _intense_ …he can be, how overwhelming, and he’s trying to settle himself to calm you down. You can’t help but be even more turned on by that, by this man who doesn’t even know you trying to make sure that you’re feeling comfortable and safe with everything, instead of just shoving his dick in you as soon as he has the chance.

  
You know better by now than to try and take what you want, so you ask, instead. Pulling away from his soft, sliding kiss, you murmur, “I want you. I want _this_. Please.” He’s searching your eyes, and apparently finds the confirmation he’s seeking, because he gently rolls you both on the couch so that you’re under him again. Taking full advantage, you wrap your legs around his hips and your arms around his back, and if your hands drift a little lower to squeeze that truly excellent ass, well how could you resist?  
  
It draws another laugh out of him, and while the strong, silent thing had you going, you like this side of him too. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, lifting your head to kiss you. Again it’s deep, intense, but slow and sweet at the same time. And almost - _almost_ \- good enough to keep you from noticing when the head of his cock presses right where you need it the most.  
  
You can’t help it this time, your hips thrust, trying to slide him inside you. He just smiles against your mouth and lets you wiggle. You can’t… _quite_ …get the right angle though, and you let out a frustrated growl and smack him on the ass. “Help me!” you demand, and it pulls a full-on belly laugh out of him, which actually _does_ help you because suddenly the tip of him has slipped inside you. Less than an inch even, but it’s enough to make you both get very serious, very fast. Slowly, carefully, he pushes into you, taking his time as he slides all the way home. Your breathing is messed up again, because he’s not ridiculously long but he’s thick, and the feeling is more intense than you expected. He drops his forehead to yours and just rests there a minute, completely still, letting you adjust to the fullness of him inside you.  
  
It takes a minute, but your body adjusts and your breathing adjusts, and he notices the instant the slight tension in your muscles relaxes. Then he’s kissing you again, thoroughly but lightly, and begins to move his hips. Slow, smooth, deep, gentle - it’s sweeter than you’d expected from him, and that makes you pull him tighter and kiss him back for all you’re worth. He takes your cue, and things quickly escalate and speed up until he’s driving into you fast and hard, but you can take it now that your body has adjusted to his size and your hips rise up to meet his every thrust. He pulls away from the kiss, propping himself up on his arms so he can watch your face as he fucks you closer and closer to your finish.  
  
The man hasn’t said much the entire night, but suddenly decides to get chatty. “God you’re so wet…tight…feel so good under me.” He gives you a quick kiss before continuing. “I want you to cum for me…want to make you shake with it…just let go, let go, I’ll take care of you…I’ve got you…” He punctuates the statement with perfect thrusts of his hips, and suddenly yeah of _course_ you would orgasm on his command because he’s made it clear all night that he’s in charge. And you _do_ shake with it, but you also bite his shoulder to keep quiet. Which seems to be something he really, _really_ likes, because then he’s shaking too and pressing his mouth against yours as he moans his own completion.  
  
He rolls you both back onto your sides until your breathing has returned to normal. You expect it to be awkward, but somehow he makes it okay, gently stroking your face and dropping light kisses all over you. He gets up, grabs some napkins from the table, and cleans you both up before helping you find your clothes.

  
Once you’re both dressed again, you’re surprised that he tugs you back down to sit next to him on the couch. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he pulls you in to rest your head against that firm chest, and it feels so good and you don’t want this to end yet. He places a few light kisses on the top of your head, gently rubbing your back, and you just absorb it all, listening to the spill of music from the other side of the curtain and wishing the two of you never had to walk back through it.

  
He seems to come to some sort of decision, and tilts your chin up so you’re looking at each other. “I enjoyed that more than I was supposed to,” he murmurs.  
  
You must have looked as puzzled as you felt, because he gives a soft laugh and explains. “I enjoyed that more than I maybe expected to when I came up to you on the dance floor. More than I expected to for a quickie in the VIP room, you know?” You nod, letting him off the hook, because what he’s saying makes perfect sense. This was not the fuck you’d been expecting; it had somehow turned into something special, something precious that you wanted to tuck away in your memories to take out and savor for the rest of your life.

  
His brow crinkles a little bit, and he asks, “Where are you from? You’re American too, but where?” You explain that you’re from Washington, but going to grad school in New York, and just doing a research semester in London. It had been pure chance that you and your flatmates had chosen this weekend to explore Berlin, and you send up a silent thank-you to your fairy godmother for that.  
  
“New York, huh? I can work with New York,” he proclaims, and is he saying what you think he is? Is there a chance that you might actually see this guy again? He must see the desperate hope on your face, because he drops a soft kiss on your lips before meeting your eyes and repeating, “I can definitely work with New York. Now c’mon, your friends have probably left already, so let’s tuck you into a cab before it gets any later.”

  
He pulls you up from the couch and places a hand at the small of your back as he guides you back through the curtain. It feels like you’ve come out of a cocoon into a different world - your friends _have_ gone, most of the dancers have, and you must have been in there a lot longer than you’d realized.  
Once you’re outside, he hails a cab and hands the driver more than enough cash to take you anywhere in the city. You shyly begin to ask, “Do you…you know, you could always…” but he shakes his head.   
“Any other night I would, but I have somewhere I was supposed to be a couple of hours ago.” And the realization that he blew off whatever those plans were for you makes you smile. But still, there’s something he’s forgotten. “I’m in Berlin until tomorrow, then London for one more month, then New York. Let me give you my info…” You’re digging in your purse for a pen, but he stills your hand.

 

“Don’t worry. I don’t need it. I’ll find you, no problem. It’s kind of what I do.” He grins and kisses you, and you believe him - not only that he’ll find you, but that he _wants_ to find you. And that makes it a little easier when he tucks you into the back of the waiting cab with a final kiss and a whispered, “I promise.”   
  
Two months later, he keeps that promise.


End file.
